The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart

Her implacable memory, like that of all pure young girls, retraced with incredible fidelity the smallest details of those sublime phases.

In a word, she reconstructed in her thoughts the series of events in which the hunter had mingled, and in which he had, thanks to his indomitable courage and his presence of mind, extricated in so happy a fashion those he had suddenly come to succour, at the instant when they were without hope.

The hurried manner in which the hunter had left them, disdaining the most simple thanks, and appearing even unconcerned for those he had saved, had chilled the girl; she was piqued more than can be imagined by this real or affected indifference. And, consequently, she continually revolved means to make her preserver repent that indifference, if chance should a second time bring them together.

It is well known, although it may at the first glance appear a paradox, that from hatred, or, at least, from curiosity to love, there is but one step.

Doña Luz passed it at full speed, without perceiving it.

As we have said, Doña Luz had been educated in a convent, at the gates of which the sounds of the world died away without an echo. Her youth had passed calm and colourless, in the religious, or, rather, superstitious practices, upon which in Mexico religion is built. When her uncle took her from the convent to lead her with him through the journey he meditated into the prairies, the girl was ignorant of the most simple exigences of life, and had no more idea of the outward world, in which she was so suddenly cast, than a blind man has of the effulgent splendour of the sun's beams.

This ignorance, which seconded admirably the projects of the uncle, was for the niece a stumbling block against which she twenty times a day came into collision in spite of herself.

But, thanks to the care with which the general surrounded her, the few weeks which passed away before their departure from Mexico had been spent without too much pain by the young girl.

We feel called upon, however, to notice here an incident, trifling in appearance, but which left too deep a trace in the mind of Doña Luz not to be related.

The general was actively employed in getting together the people he wanted for his expedition, and was therefore obliged to neglect his niece more than he would have wished.

As he, however, feared that the young girl would be unhappy at being left so much alone with an old duenna in the palace he occupied, in the Calle de los Plateros, he sent her frequently to spend her evenings at the house of a female relation who received a select society, and with whom his niece passed her time in a comparatively agreeable manner.

Now one evening when the assembly had been more numerous than usual, the party did not break up till late.

At the first stroke of eleven, sounded by the ancient clock of the convent of the Merced Doña Luz and her duenna, preceded by a peon carrying a torch to light them, set off on their return home, casting anxious looks, right and left, on account of the character of the streets at that time of night. They had but a short distance to go, when all at once, on turning the corner of the Calle San Agustin to enter that of Plateros, four or five men of bad appearance seemed to rise from the earth, and surrounded the two women, after having previously, by a vigorous blow, extinguished the torch carried by the peon.

To express the terror of the young lady at this unexpected apparition, is impossible.

She was so frightened that, without having the strength to utter a cry, she fell on her knees, with her hands clasped, before the bandits.

The duenna, on the contrary, sent forth deafening screams.

The Mexican bandits, all very expeditious men, had, in the shortest time possible, reduced the duenna to silence, by gagging her with her own rebozo; then, with all the calmness which these worthies bring to the exercise of their functions, assured as they are of the impunity granted to them by that justice with which they generally go halves, proceeded to plunder their victims.

The operation was shortened by the latter, for, so far from offering any resistance, they tore off their jewels in the greatest haste, and the bandits pocketed them with grins of satisfaction.

But, at the very height of this enjoyment, a sword gleamed suddenly over their heads, and two of the bandits fell to the ground, swearing and howling with fury.

Those who were left standing, enraged at this unaccustomed attack, turned to avenge their companions, and rushed all together upon the aggressor.

The latter, heedless of their numbers, made a step backwards, placed himself on guard, and prepared to give them a welcome.

But, by chance, with the change in his position, the moonlight fell upon his face. The bandits instantly drew back in terror, and promptly sheathed their machetes.

"Ah, ah!" said the stranger, with a smile of contempt, as he advanced towards them, "you recognise me, my masters, do you? By the Virgin! I am sorry for it – I was preparing to give you a rather sharp lesson. Is this the manner in which you execute my orders?"

The bandits remained silent, contrite and repentant, in appearance at least.

"Come, empty your pockets, you paltry thieves, and restore to these ladies what you have taken from them!"

Without a moment's hesitation, the thieves unbandaged the duenna, and restored the rich booty which, an instant before, they had so joyfully appropriated to themselves.

Doña Luz could not overcome her astonishment, she looked with the greatest surprise at this strange man, who possessed such authority over bandits acknowledging neither faith nor law.

"Is this really all?" he said, addressing the young lady, "are you sure you miss nothing, señora?"

"Nothing – nothing, sir!" she replied, more dead than alive, and not knowing at all what she said.

"Now, then, begone, you scoundrels," the stranger continued; "I will take upon myself to be the escort of these ladies."

The bandits did not require to be twice told; they disappeared like a flight of crows, carrying off the wounded.

As soon as he was left alone with the two women, the stranger turned towards Doña Luz —

"Permit me, señorita," he said, with refined courtesy of manner, "to offer you my arm as far as your palace; the fright you have just experienced must render your steps uncertain."

Mechanically, and without reply, the young girl placed her hand within the arm so courteously offered to her, and they moved forward.

"When they arrived at the palace, the stranger knocked at the door, and then taking off his hat, said, —

"Señorita, I am happy that chance has enabled me to render you a slight service. I shall have the honour of seeing you again. I have already, for a long time, followed your steps like your shadow. God, who has granted me the favour of an opportunity of speaking with you once, will, I feel assured, grant me a second, although, in a few days, you are to set out on a long journey. Permit me then to say not adieu, but au revoir."

After bowing humbly and gracefully to the young lady, he departed at a rapid pace.

A fortnight after this strange adventure, of which she did not think fit to speak to her uncle, Doña Luz quitted Mexico, without having again seen the unknown. Only, on the eve of her departure, when retiring to her bedchamber, she found a folded note upon her prie-dieu. In this note were the following words, written in an elegant hand: —

"You are going, Doña Luz! Remember that I told you I should see you again.

"Your preserver of the Calle de los Plateros."

For a long time this strange meeting strongly occupied the mind of the young girl; for an instant, she had even believed that Loyal Heart and her unknown preserver were the same man; but this supposition had soon faded away. What probability was there in it? With that object could Loyal Heart, after having saved her, so quickly have departed? That would have been absurd.

But, by one of those consequences (or those inconsequences, whichever the reader pleases) of the human mind, in proportion as the affair of Mexico was effaced from her thoughts, that of Loyal Heart, became more prominent.

She longed to see the hunter and talk with him.

Why?

She did not herself know. To see him, – to hear his voice, – to meet his look, at once so soft and so proud, – nothing else; all maidens would have done the same.

But how was she to see him again?

In reply to that question arose an impossibility, before which the poor girl dropped her head with discouragement.

And yet something at the bottom of her heart, perhaps that voice divine which in the reflections of love whispers to young girls, told her that her wish would soon be accomplished.

She hoped, then?

What for?

For some unforeseen incident, – a terrible danger, perhaps, – which might again bring them together.

True love may doubt sometimes, but it never despairs.

Four days after the establishment of the camp upon the hill, in the evening, when retiring to her tent, Doña Luz smiled inwardly as she looked at her uncle, who was pensively preparing to go to rest.

She had at length thought of a means of going in search of Loyal Heart.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE BEE-HUNT

The sun was scarcely above the horizon, when the general, whose horse was already saddled, left the reed cabin which served him as a sleeping apartment, and prepared to set out on his usual daily ride. At the moment when he was putting his foot in the stirrup, a little hand lifted the curtain of the tent, and Doña Luz appeared.

"Oh! oh! what, up already!" said the general, smiling. "So much the better, dear child. I shall be able to have a kiss before I set out; and that perhaps may bring me good luck," he added, stifling a sigh.

"You will not go thus, uncle," she replied, presenting her cheek, upon which he placed a kiss.

"Why not, fair lady?" he asked gaily.

"Because I wish you to partake of something I have prepared for you before you mount on horseback; you cannot refuse me, can you, dear uncle?" she said, with that coaxing smile of spoilt children which delights the hearts of old men.

"No, certainly not, dear child, upon condition that the breakfast you offer me so gracefully be not delayed. I am rather in a hurry."

"I only ask for a few minutes," she replied, returning to the tent.

"For a few minutes be it then," said he, following her.

The young girl clapped her hands with joy.

In the twinkling of an eye, the breakfast was ready, and the general at table with his niece. Whilst assisting her uncle, and taking great care that he wanted for nothing, the young girl looked at him from time to time in an embarrassed manner, and did it so evidently, that the old soldier ended by observing it.

"It is my opinion," he said, laying down his knife and fork, and looking at her earnestly, "that you have something to ask me, Lucita; you know very well that I am not accustomed to refuse you anything."

"That is true, dear uncle; but this time, I am afraid, you will be more difficult to be prevailed upon."

"Ah! ah!" the general said, gaily; "it must be something serious, then!"

"Quite the contrary, uncle; and yet, I confess, I am afraid you will refuse me."

"Speak, notwithstanding, my child," said the old soldier; "speak without fear; when you have told me what this mighty affair is, I will soon answer you."

"Well, uncle," the girl said, blushing, but determined on her purpose, "I am compelled to say that the residence in the camp has nothing agreeable about it."

"I can conceive that, my child; but what do you wish me to do to make it otherwise?"

"Everything."

"How so, dear?"

"Nay, dear, uncle, if you were always here, it would not be dull; I should have your company."

"What you say is very amiable; but, as you know I am absent every morning, I cannot be here, and —

"That is exactly where the difficulty lies."

"That is true."

"But, if you were willing, it could be easily removed."

"Do you think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"Well, I don't see too clearly how, unless I remained always with you, and that is impossible."

"Oh; there are other means that would arrange the whole affair."

"Nonsense!"

"Yes, uncle, and very simple means too."

"Well, then, darling, what are these means?"

"You will not scold me, uncle?"

"Silly child! do I ever scold you?"

"That is true! You are so kind."

"Come, then; speak out, little pet?"

"Well, uncle, these means – "

"These means are?"

"That you should take me with you every morning."

"Oh! oh!" said the general, whose brows became contracted; "do you know what you ask me, my dear child?"

"Why, a very natural thing, uncle, as I think."

The general made no reply; he reflected. The girl watched anxiously the fugitive traces of his thoughts upon his countenance.

At the end of a few instants, he raised his head.

"Well, perhaps," he murmured, "it would be better so;" and fixing a piercing look upon his niece, he said, "it would give you pleasure, then, to accompany me?"

"Yes, uncle, yes!" she replied.

"Well, then, get ready, my dear child; henceforth you shall accompany me in my excursions."

She arose from her seat with a bound, kissed her uncle warmly, and gave orders for her horse to be saddled.

A quarter of an hour later, Doña Luz and her uncle, preceded by the Babbler, and followed by two lanceros, quitted the camp, and plunged into the forest.

"Which way would you wish to direct your course, today, general?" the guide asked.

"Conduct me to the huts of those trappers you spoke of yesterday."

The guide bowed in sign of obedience. The little party advanced slowly and with some difficulty along a scarcely traced path, where, at every step, the horses became entangled in the creeping plants, or stumbled over the roots of trees above the level of the ground.

Doña Luz was gay and happy. Perhaps in these excursions she might meet with Loyal Heart.

The Babbler, who was a few paces in advance, suddenly uttered a cry.

"Eh!" said the general, "what extraordinary thing has happened, Master Babbler, to induce you to speak?"

"The bees, señor."

"What! bees! are there bees here?"

"Yes; but lately only."

"How only lately?"

"Why, you know, of course, that bees were brought into America by the whites."

"That, I know. How is it, then, they are met with here?"

"Nothing more simple; the bees are the advanced sentinels of the whites. In proportion as the whites penetrate into the interior of America, the bees go forward to trace the route for them, and point out the clearings. Their appearance in an uninhabited country always presages the arrival of a colony of pioneers or squatters."

"That is something strange," the general murmured; "are you sure of what you are telling me?"

"Oh! quite sure, señor; the fact is well known to all Indians, they are not mistaken in it, be assured; for as soon as they see the bees arrive, they retreat."

"That is truly singular."

"The honey must be very good," said Doña Luz.

"Excellent, señorita, and if you wish for it, nothing is more easy than to get it."

"Get some, then," said the general.

The guide, who some moments before had placed a bait for the bees upon the bushes, to which, with his piercing sight, he had already seen several bees attracted, made a sign to those behind him to stop.

The bees had, in fact, lighted upon the bait, and were examining it all over; when they had made their provision, they rose very high into the air, and then took flight in a direct line with the velocity of a cannon ball.

The guide carefully watched the direction they took, and making a sign to the general, he sprang after them, followed by the whole party, clearing themselves a way through interlaced roots, fallen trees, bushes and briars, their eyes directed all the while towards the sky.

In this fashion they never lost sight of the laden bees, and after a difficult pursuit of an hour, they saw them arrive at their nest, constructed in the hollow of a dead ebony tree; after buzzing for a moment, they entered a hole situated at more than eighty feet from the ground.

Then the guide, after having warned his companions to keep at a respectful distance, in order to be out of the way of the falling tree and the vengeance of its inhabitants, seized his axe and attacked the ebony vigorously near the base.

The bees did not seem at all alarmed by the strokes of the axe; they continued going in and out, carrying on their industrial labours in full security. A violent cracking even, which announced the splitting of the trunk, did not divert them from their occupations.

At length the tree fell, with a horrible crash, opening the whole of its length, and leaving the accumulated treasures of the community exposed to view.

The guide immediately seized a bundle of hay which he had prepared, and to which he set fire to defend himself from the bees.

But they attacked nobody; they did not seek to avenge themselves. The poor creatures were stupefied; they ran and flew about in all directions round their destroyed empire, without thinking of anything but how to account for this unlooked-for catastrophe.

Then the guide and the lanceros set to work with spoons and knives to get out the comb and put it into the wineskins.

Some of the comb was of a deep brown, and of ancient date, other parts were of a beautiful white; the honey in the cells was almost limpid.

Whilst they were hastening to get possession of the best combs, they saw arrive on the wing from all points of the horizon numberless swarms of honey bees, who, plunging into the broken cells, loaded themselves, whilst the ex-proprietors of the hive, dull and stupefied, looked on, without seeking to save the least morsel, at the robbery of their honey.

It is impossible to describe the astonishment of the bees that were absent at the moment of the catastrophe, as they arrived at their late home with their cargoes; they described circles in the air round the place the tree had occupied, astonished to find it empty; at length, however they seemed to comprehend their disaster, and collected in groups upon the dried branch of a neighbouring tree, appearing to contemplate thence the fallen ruin, and to lament the destruction of their empire.

Doña Luz felt affected in spite of herself, at the trouble of these poor creatures.

"Let us go," she said, "I repent of having wished for honey; my greediness has made too many unhappy."

"Let us be gone," said the general, smiling; "leave them these few combs."

"Oh!" said the guide, shrugging his shoulders, "they will soon be carried away by the vermin."

"The vermin! What vermin do you mean?" the general asked.

"Oh! the raccoons, the opossums, but particularly the bears."

"The bears?" said Doña Luz.

"Oh, señorita!" the guide replied, "they are the cleverest vermin in the world in discovering a tree of bees, and getting their share of the honey."

"Do they like honey, then?" said the lady, with excited curiosity.

"Why, they are mad after it, señorita," the guide, who really seemed to relax of his cynical humour, rejoined. "Imagine how greedy they are after it, when they will gnaw a tree for weeks, until they succeed in making a hole large enough to put their paws in, and then they carry off honey and bees, without taking the trouble to choose."

"Now," said the general, "let us resume our route, and seek the residence of the trappers."

"Oh! we shall soon be there, señor," replied the guide; "the great Canadian river is within a few paces of us, and trappers are established all along the streams which flow into it."

The little party proceeded on their way again.

The bee hunt had left an impression of sadness on the mind of the young lady, which, although unconscious of it, she could not overcome. Those poor little creatures, so gentle and so industrious, attacked and ruined for a caprice, grieved her, and, in spite, of herself, made her thoughtful.

Her uncle perceived this disposition of her mind.

"Dear child!" he said, "what is passing in your little head? You are no longer so gay as when we set out; whence comes this sudden change?"

"Good heavens! uncle, do not let that disturb you; I am, like other young girls, rather wild and whimsical; this bee hunt, from which I promised myself so much pleasure, has left a degree of sadness behind it that I cannot get rid of."

"Happy child!" the general murmured, "whom so futile a cause has still the power to trouble. God grant, darling, that you may continue long in that disposition, and that greater and more real troubles may never reach you!"

"My kind uncle, shall I not always be happy while near you?"

"Alas! my child, who knows whether God may permit me to watch over you long!"

"Do not say so, uncle; I hope we have many years to pass together."

The general only responded to this hope by a sigh.

"Uncle," the girl resumed, after a few moments, "do you not find that the aspect of the grand and sublime nature which surrounds us has something striking in it that ennobles our ideas, elevates the soul, and renders man better? How happy must they be who live in these boundless deserts!"

The general looked at her with astonishment.

"Whence come these thoughts to your mind, dear child?" he said.

"I do not know, uncle," she replied, timidly; "I am but an ignorant girl, whose life, still so short, has flowed on to this moment calm and peaceful, under your protection. And yet there are moments when it seems to me that I should be happy to live in these vast deserts."

The general, surprised, and inwardly charmed at the ingenuous frankness of his niece, was preparing to answer her, when the guide, suddenly coming up to them, made a sign to command silence, by saying, in a voice as low as a breath, —

"A man!"

CHAPTER XIV.

BLACK ELK

Everyone stopped.

In the desert, this word man almost always means an enemy. Man in the prairies is more dreaded by his fellow than the most ferocious wild beast. A man is a rival, a forced associate, who, by the right of being the stronger, comes to share with the first occupant, and often, if we may not say always, strives to deprive him of the fruits of his thankless labour.

Thus, whites, Indians, or half-breeds, when they meet in the prairies, salute each other with eye on the watch, ears open, and the finger on the trigger of the rifle.

At this cry of a man, the general and the lanceros, at all hazards, prepared against a sudden attack by cocking their guns, and concealing themselves as much as possible behind the bushes.

At fifty paces before them stood an individual, who, the butt on the ground, and his two hands leaning on the barrel of a long rifle, was observing them attentively.

He was a man of lofty stature, with energetic features and a frank, determined look. His long hair, arranged with care, was plaited, mingled with otter skins and ribbons of various colours. A hunting blouse of ornamented leather fell to his knees; gaiters of a singular cut, ornamented with strings, fringes, and a profusion of little bells covered his legs; his shoes consisted of a pair of superb moccasins, embroidered with false pearls.

A scarlet blanket hung from his shoulders, and was fastened round his middle by a red belt, through which were passed two pistols, a knife, and an Indian pipe.

His rifle was profusely decorated with vermilion and little copper nails.

At a few paces from him his horse was browsing on the mast of the trees.

Like its master, it was equipped in the most fantastic manner, spotted and striped with vermilion, the reins and crupper ornamented with beads and bunches of ribbon, while its head, mane, and tail, were abundantly decorated with eagle's feathers floating in the wind.

At sight of this personage the general could not restrain a cry of surprise.

"To what Indian tribe does this man belong?" he asked the guide.

"To none," the latter replied.

"How, to none?"

"No; he is a white trapper."

"And so dressed?"